


base test

by belial



Series: pH indicators [3]
Category: CA:TWS - Fandom, Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy!Rumlow, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Fluff, HYDRA PARTY FAVOR TRASH PARTY 2014, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belial/pseuds/belial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock never expected Captain America to single-handedly bring down both Hydra and SH.I.E.L.D.; never expected to survive a 41-story fall into the Potomac.  But none of it matters now; the only thing he wants to do is get to Max, and get them the hell out of D.C.</p><p>But he’s not the only one interested in finding his child…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Основной тест](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984255) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Dub-con issues throughout the storyline. Angst with a great ending. :)

** Prologue **

Brock returns to consciousness on a riverbed.

It takes him several moments to grasp what’s happening; he can see emergency vehicles surrounding the Triskelion, fires raging throughout the building and burning rubble strewn across the courtyards, the bridge; piles of twisted metal surrounding him on the watery banks of the Potomac.

He can’t believe he’s alive after jumping out of the 41st floor and hitting the water. Without the serum, he’d have died. Hell – without the serum, he’d probably have died several times over the last few days.

“Fuck,” he says, when he tries to stand. He wobbles and collapses before he can get to his feet, his right leg folding under his weight. His knee’s twice as large as it should be; either a sprain or break, but he doesn’t have time to waste. He drags himself through the mud until he finds a solid-looking tree limb laying on the ground. He uses it as a crutch, hauling himself upright and staggering toward the park. If he can make it across the park, he can hotwire one of the cars on the other side and head toward Virginia.

The rest of the world can think he’s dead or on the run, but he’s not running anywhere without his pup.

** One **

Gresham Place in Falls Church, Virginia is one of the most subdued streets Brock’s ever seen in person. A New York boy himself, he’s never gotten used to the sprawling greenery of the park, the sweet cherry blossoms that line the boulevards. The world of old money never suited him.

He drives the stolen Honda around the block three times then pulls into Pierce’s driveway. Cautiously he punches in the key code and the security gate opens, causing him to sigh in relief.

No one seems to be expecting him so far.

He’s absurdly grateful, for a moment, that Pierce had kept the secret of Max’s identity so close to the vest. Other than a few scientists and doctors – all most likely dead in the Triskelion – no one had known about the genetic experiment known as Maksim Rumlow.

Brock intended to keep it that way.

He throws the car into park, takes his left foot off of the break. Driving had been a nightmare but he’d made it, and he pulls himself out of the car by sheer willpower. He heads around the back of the house toward the cellar entryway. If he manages to get in, he only has minutes to find Max and run for it – but without weapons or backup, he’d have to make it work.

“Daddy?”

Brock spins, stumbles as he sees Max staring at him from the back door. “Max? What are you doing back here?”

“I saw you, Daddy!” the dark-haired boy answers. The four-year-old rushes down the steps and throws himself at Brock, who catches him so the two of them fall easily back into the grass. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Brock says, holding Max as tightly as he can and burying his nose into his son’s hair. “Where’s Daphne?”

“Inside. Daddy, you’re dirty,” Max says, wrinkling his nose. “Is it bath time?”

Brock chokes out a laugh, kisses his son’s forehead. “You bet, buddy. Come on, let’s see if Daphne can keep an eye on you while Daddy gets a shower, huh?”

“Okay,” Max agrees. He climbs off of Brock and runs into the house. Brock limps inside behind him, and when he catches sight of Daphne, she goes wide-eyed. 

“I saw what happened on the news,” she hisses. “How are you still alive?”

“Luck,” he says. He limps towards her and she backs up, but she’s no match for a man determined to keep Hydra’s hands off his son. He easily breaks her neck and pushes her body into the pantry, with seconds to spare before Max runs back into the room. “Where’s Daphne?”

“She went out for a little while, buddy. She knows we needed some guy time,” Brock lies. “Can you hang out and watch some cartoons while Daddy gets a quick shower and changes?”

Max nods, wanders into the living room where Brock finds himself putting The Little Mermaid into the Blue-Ray player. 

His life sometimes…

He makes sure Max is tucked under his favorite blanket and hobbles to the bathroom. He strips out of his clothes and takes the fastest shower in recorded history, then heads to Max’s room. Fortunately, the black duffle bag is still on the top shelf of Max’s closet, holding a change of clothes and fifty grand in cash.

It was the only thing Pierce and he ever agreed upon, in case they ever came under attack.

Brock quickly dresses, grabs the bag and the second smaller bag of things for Max. He also grabs Rex the dinosaur from the bed. “Buddy?” Brock calls, walking back into the living room. “Max, we have to go on a trip. Can you come to the garage with me?”

Max stares at the TV. “Is Unca Alex going too?”

 _Unca Alex is hopefully burning in hell,_ Brock doesn’t say. He simply shakes his head no. “Just us. You want to go on a trip with Daddy?”

Max visibly perks up. “Just us?”

“Absolutely,” Brock says, and prays they can get out of D.C. before anyone’s the wiser. “Just you and me, we’ll go someplace far away.”

“Like in Green Eggs and Ham?”

“In a plane or on a train,” Brock says, and tickles his son’s belly. Max squeals and laughs and reaches out for Brock to scoop him up. Brock does, carefully placing all of his weight on his left leg so he doesn’t drop his pup. “So whaddya say? You ready to go?”

“I gotta get Rex!”

“I already got him,” Brock assures him. “You don’t think I’d forget about poor Rex, huh?”

“Mmm… I guess not.” 

“Okay, so we’re on our way. You gotta walk for me on your own, though. Can you do that for me? Daddy’s going to carry our bags instead.”

Max pouts, and Brock grins at him. “Sorry, buddy. That face isn’t gonna work today, even if it is the cutest face ever.”

“Daddy!” Max giggles, when Brock nuzzles him again. “All right, I’ll walk. Are we taking Unca Alex’s car?”

“No, I’ve got a car for us out front,” Brock says, putting the boy down. One of the best (and worst) part of his son’s enhancements is his ability to learn – he’s already miles ahead of other children in early education and has more questions than a math book. “Come on.”

They walk to the front door – Brock carrying both bags – and Max reaches for the locks. Brock lets him until movement outside the house catches his eye through the windows. “Hey, Max? Daddy changed his mind, we’re going out through the back door. Can you do me a favor? Can you carry Rex for me?”

Brock leads Max away from the front door and hands him the stuffed dinosaur. While Max tucks Rex under his arm, Brock peers through the blinds in growing horror as his eyes land upon his mate and… Captain America? “What the hell…?”

“Daddy! That’s a dollar in the swears jar,” Max chides, loudly.

Too loudly. Both men glance up at the window, and Brock jerks away but it’s too late – they’ve spotted him. He hobbles to the back door as fast as he can and locks it, sets the security alarm and scoops Max up in his grasp. The duffle bags get thrown across the front hall as Brock runs toward the stairs, forcing his leg to take his weight and Max’s under extreme protest. He makes it to the second floor and opens the window in Pierce’s guest bedroom. “We’re going to make it a game, buddy, okay? I need you to climb up on my back and hang on to me with both hands while I climb the two of us down that tree. And we need to be super quiet. It’s real important so can you do that for me?”

Max nods and as Brock kneels down, he climbs onto Brock’s back like a monkey. “Good job,” Brock says. “Now you gotta be really quiet, all right?”

The boy nods again. Brock takes a deep breath and hauls himself onto the roofline of the porch. They inch toward the poplar’s branches and Brock grabs a limb firmly. It’s terrifyingly slow going due to his injuries, but he knows that by the time the Soldier and the Captain finish searching the house, they should have enough time to get in the car and go.

They drop the last two feet to the ground, Brock stifling a scream of pain. He sets Max down next to him and holds a finger to his lips. Quietly, the pair hustle across the yard to the Honda, and as they reach it Brock’s heart sinks.

Because of course they already punctured the tires.

“Going somewhere?”

Brock shoves Max behind him, uses his own body as a shield when turning to face Rogers. “Cap,” he says, as calmly as he can. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Several crashes occur within the house, and then – the Soldier’s on the porch. Brock looks between them, knowing he won’t be able to beat either of them in a fight. “I don’t have a beef with you,” he says. “I just want to go, fall off the grid and disappear.”

“Not with my best friend’s kid, you’re not,” Rogers snaps. “What gives you the right to come here and try to kidnap Bucky’s child, Rumlow? If you’re so willing to disappear?”

“What do you mean, kidnap Bucky’s child? Who the hell is Bucky?”

“Daddy, look! It’s Papa!” Max shouts, and pulls away from Brock’s grasp. He runs straight at the Soldier and jumps at him.

And the Soldier – monster that he is – catches Max and tosses him into the air.

Fuck Pierce a thousand times over. Because as much as Pierce allowed Brock to come visit Max, obviously he also took Max to visit the Winter Soldier.

“Fuck everything,” Brock snarls at Rogers, who’s blinking at him. “Fucking Pierce and fucking Hydra and fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“Daddy!” Max scolds, from his seat on the Winter Soldier’s shoulders. He covers his ears and it’s enough to make Brock smile despite the situation. “That’s like four more dollars in the swears jar!”

“Yeah, buddy, I know,” he says, and Roger’s head is whipping back and forth between the Soldier and Brock. “Can I give you an I.O.U.?”

Max crosses his arms and glares at Brock. “Guess so.”

“That’s your son,” Rogers says, disbelievingly. “Maksim?”

Brock nods, still ready to shot or be shot. “He’s mine. He’s coming with _me_.”

“He comes with me,” the Soldier replies, and walks down from the porch to stand in front of them. “You both come. The Captain offers us help.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Brock says through clenched teeth. “Nowhere, do you hear me?”

“Rumlow, you’re wounded. Badly, by the look of you. I don’t know how any of this makes sense, but let us help you.”

Brock raises an eyebrow and gapes at Rogers. “Are you kidding me? We were trying to kill each other not two hours ago!”

“And now we’re not,” the other man says, simply. “Wouldn’t it be safer for Max to have several people guarding him instead of just one?”

“Don’t try to use my son against me,” Brock says, but his heart’s clenching at the way the Soldier seems to be grooming their son. Jesus, this is the first time in almost four and a half years that Max has been around both of his parents at the same time. “But you’re right. He needs all the help he can get. I’ve got supplies in the house we can take. Cash.”

“And Rex!” 

Rogers straightens. “Who’s Rex?”

Max hides his face in the Soldier’s neck and purrs quietly. “He’s been taught not to talk to strangers,” Brock says. “Max, this is Steve. He’s a friend of your Papa’s, and mine. Okay? You can talk to him.”

“Rex is a dinosaur Daddy gave me,” Max says, shyly. “He’s a tyra… toran… Daddy, how do you say it?”

“Tyrannosaurus.”

“Yeah, he’s that!”

Rogers – Steve – easily slips from soldier to civilian. He holds out his arms and the Soldier passes Max over without a second’s hesitation. Max clings to the other Alpha now that he’s been given approval. “So your Daddy gave you Rex, huh?”

Brock watches how instantly comfortable they are, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the Soldier touches his arm. “Jesus Christ!”

“Come, we get bags.”

Brock leads him into the open door of the house, picks up the black bags, and then points up the stairs and gives the Soldier directions on how to find Rex. When he rejoins Brock in the foyer, Brock says, “Thanks.”

The Soldier nods, takes the bags from Brock’s hands. “You go, I follow.”

Brock carefully walks out the door to find Steve buckling Max into the back seat of a Hummer. “Glad you took an inconspicuous car,” he says, sarcastically.

“We didn’t have a lot of options at the time,” Rogers replies. “Get in the back seat with your son, Rumlow. We’ve got a long drive ahead, but at least we know someplace safe to land.”

“No place is safe for men like us,” Brock says, but collapses into the seat next to Max anyway. He curls around his pup and sleeps as Steve pulls into traffic. Who knows when he’ll next get the chance to sleep.

Who knows if they’ll even let him wake up.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. Semi-graphic non-con. Does it seem weird to have rape and kidfic together? :)

Brock’s dreaming of falling when he snaps into consciousness. He shoots upward, reaching out for any weapon he can find, when he hears, “Hey, asshole! Sit the fuck down!”

It takes him a moment to realize he’s holding a screwdriver against Tony Stark’s throat. 

“Where am I?”

“Safe,” Stark replies. “I’m…” 

“I know who you are,” Brock replies, shortly. “Where’s Max?”

“Upstairs, asleep on Steve’s couch. Where you’re not in any condition to go, until you lie back so we can finish resetting your leg.”

Brock glances around at two other men; one is Rogers, and the other is a dark-haired man with glasses. He takes a chance and lays backwards, screaming as soon as they touch his leg again. “Damn it,” Rogers says. “I’ll hold him.”

Resetting his femur is an agony; Brock knows he passes out for part of it. When he wakes again, he’s glazed over with some really good drugs. “Wow.”

“You’ll need to stay off this leg even after the drugs wear off,” the dark-haired man he doesn’t know says. “You’ll be in a cast for a while, but you’ll be fine. I take it you have some accelerated healing factor as well?”

“Yeah. Thank you,” Brock says. He’s uncomfortable with how much the man seems to know. “Dr…?”

“Banner. Bruce Banner. As a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, that should ring a bell for you.”

“A few of ‘em.”

Dr. Banner smiles faintly. “Well. I’ll go let Steve know you’re awake.”

“And Max?”

“Still upstairs on Steve’s couch, watching TV. He’s fine, Agent Rumlow. I swear it.”

Brock glances around the room to look for anything he could use as a weapon, in case he has to defend himself. They’ve cleared the immediate vicinity of any tools or sharply pointed objects; he doesn’t even see a pencil or pen. Footsteps end his visual search as abruptly as it started. “How do you feel?”

“Stoned.”

Rogers huffs a laugh. “That sounds about right. Once I found Bucky, I felt like I’d fallen on my head.”

“Who’s Bucky?”

Rogers blinks. “The Winter Soldier.”

“You two know each other? How is that possible?”

Rogers sits down in the chair Banner vacated. “How much do you know about the Winter Soldier?”

“Red Room experiment, assassin, Alpha.”

“Well he didn’t start out that way. His name is James Buchanan Barnes, known as Bucky, and he was my best friend. He was one of my Howling Commandos, the only one who died back in World War II.”

“But that’s…” Brock trails off.

“Crazy?”

Brock raises a hand and covers his face and lets out a bark of laughter that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “So my mate is your dead best friend.”

“And you’re my best friend’s omega. I knew something was off when I met you, but it never hit me that you smell a little like Bucky. I just thought it was coincidence.”

“You could tell I was omega? Not many people knew.”

Rogers – Steve, damn it – taps the side of his nose. “Super soldier. I could tell. But how in the world did you become the leader of a STRIKE team?”

“I didn’t want to be omega. I’ve got a serum similar to the Soldier’s. And that’s also what made us compatible for mating.”

“When did you two…?”

“Before I met you,” Brock says. “When I was part of Pierce’s personal detail, I was pretty much on milk runs and bed rest until I had Max.”

“He’s a beautiful boy,” Rogers says. “He’s got Bucky’s eyes and charm already.”

“I know. Every time I look at him, I see the Soldier.”

“Why don’t you call him James?”

“I didn’t know he had a name. And we never spent much time together. If you’ve had a chance to read his file…”

“I have. A friend gave me what S.H.I.E.L.D. had on record.”

“I think I’ve been around him maybe half a dozen times in the past five years. Names never mattered. He probably doesn’t know my name is Brock.”

“Rumlow, I’ve known you a couple years, and _**I**_ didn’t know your name is Brock.”

Brock shakes his head. “Nice to meet you?”

“Then you should call me Steve.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Steve says, “Not personal?”

“Hmm?”

“When you attacked me in the elevator. You said it wasn’t personal. I think you lied to me – because this seems awfully personal.”

“In early 2009, Alexander Pierce locked me in a room with the Winter Soldier when he went into a mating rut,” Brock says, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “And when he found out I was pregnant, he threatened me and threatened Max to ensure that everything I did was for Hydra’s sake. So no, Cap. It wasn’t personal for me to try to take you down. I never had a problem with you. I just needed to make sure Max was safe.”

“Didn’t picture you as the type who would’ve cared for a pup.”

“I didn’t. And then I held him and he pretty much became the only thing I care about. I would do anything, kill anyone for him, you understand? I don’t care about anything but him anymore.”

“And what about Bucky? How does he make you feel?”

“I don’t care about your not-dead best friend, Steve,” Brock says. “I might be tied to him, but it’s not by choice.”

Steve puts a meaty hand on Brock’s shoulder, rubs across the back of his neck. “We’ll work on that, okay? Because the guy you’ve met and the real Bucky Barnes are two very different Alphas.”

“So your friend’s not a rapist and killer?”

Steve flinches, but doesn’t back down from Brock’s sneering comment. “Not when he has a choice and isn’t brainwashed, no. And I don’t think either of us have any right to judge him on being a killer.”

Brock shrugs, says, “Any chance I could get some crutches, so I can go see Max?”

Steve leaves the room to find out, is back in a moment. “So how come you came to talk to me instead of my beloved Alpha?”

“Because he’s curled up with your son, cuddling him,” Steve replies, handing him crutches. “And it’s the only thing keeping Max calm because he’s worried about you.”

Brock realizes the burning sensation in his chest is guilt. “Oh.”

“We’re going to have to figure out a way to work together without being at each other’s throats, you know.”

“Old habits die hard.”

Steve chuckles and leads him to the elevator. When they get out on a different floor, Brock notices several people lounging around the living area.

“ _Daddy!_ ”

Brock nearly collapses with relief at the way his pup shoots upright from the sofa and waves at him. “Daddy, you’re better! Papa and Dr. Bruce say you aren’t allowed to hold me yet.”

“Sorry, little man, they’re right,” Brock says, wobbling over to the couch and sitting next to his child. “I’m going to have to take it easy until my knee gets better. Daddy has an ouchie.”

“That’s bad, Daddy,” Max says, rubbing his face. “I don’t like ouchies.”

“Me neither,” Brock says, but he pulls Max closer into his side and kisses him on the head. “Ouchies stink!”

There are tickles and a cuddle, and after ten minutes or so Max falls asleep in Brock’s lap. He rumbles contentedly at the feeling of his child in his arms.

“I hate to say it, but you’re really freaking adorable together,” Stark says. “Nauseating, but adorable. I need a drink.”

He wanders away and Brock glances at the others who surround him. “Any of you want to say anything?”

Silence, but the Black Widow’s smiling at him like the spider that got the fly. He glares at her. “What?”

She shakes her head and leaves the room quietly, and Brock’s now surrounded by only three Avengers. Joy.

Banner excuses himself a little after nine, leaving him with Steve and the Sold… James. “Do you have a place for Max to sleep?” Brock asks, softly. “He’s pretty done for the day.”

“I’ll take him,” Steve offers.

Brock hates letting Max out of his sight, but forces himself to nod and let the pup go. Steve picks him up and carries him down a hallway, leaving him and the Soldier alone. Brock’s quiet, until a hand lands on the back of his neck. He jerks away, snaps, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The Soldier tilts his head, grins, then pushes Brock onto his back. It doesn’t take any time at all for the Alpha to pin the Omega down, scenting him and nibbling at his neck. “Please, don’t do this,” Brock tries, but is cut off by a sharp kiss. He can only fight his biology so much, it seems. “Our son’s down the hall; I don’t want this, please…?”

The Alpha unties the laces on Brock’s sweatpants, reaches under him to slide his fingers along Brock’s hole. The Omega whimpers, shivers, but still says, “I don’t want this. Stop.”

The fight runs out of his body when the other man bites down and makes him bleed. He shifts to give his Alpha more room, wanting to obey so that it would just be _over_ …

The Soldier’s body jolts, and then disappears from on top of him altogether. Brock’s breathing hard, his eyes clenched, and he has to force them open to see the two Alphas throwing punches and shouting at each other.

As incredible as it is, Rogers defends him. “Jesus Christ, Buck, what’s the matter with you? He said no!”

Bucky (or James, or the Soldier, or whomever he is) tilts his head to the side and dodges a punch, punching Steve back. “But is mine!” he says. “Mine to touch, mine to fuck? Is what Pierce told me.”

“Pierce lied,” Steve snarls. “All the time. Pierce also told you to kill me. Was that right?”

The dark-haired Alpha stops and the two of them stare at each other, chests heaving. Then, the Soldier lets out a roar, “ _You try to take him from me!_ ”

They tackle each other to the floor, and the only thing that makes them freeze is Brock’s high-pitched whine. They pause, fingers around each other’s throats, and turn to him as one. “Mate,” Brock says, swallowing hard. “I’m yours.”

The Soldier growls, and Steve says, “Brock, what…?”

“Do you want to challenge him for me? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s going to kill you,” Brock snaps. “So shut up.”

The Soldier snarls at the anger in Brock’s tone, but Brock whines again. “Mate, I need you.”

Steve’s shoved to the floor as the Soldier stands, moves towards Brock’s place on the couch. “Rogers, if you give a damn about your best friend, you’re going to go get Max and get the hell out of here,” Brock says, as the Soldier crawls on top of him. Brock arches up and tips his head, offering the Soldier his throat. “Please. I don’t want Max to see or hear this.”

“Rumlow…”

“ _Now,_ Cap.”

Steve pivots down the hallway as the Soldier’s teeth lock in Brock’s skin. He reaches up and pets the Soldier’s hair, trying to stop the Alpha from causing him too much pain. “Please,” he says, shifting beneath the stronger man. “Don’t make it hurt, please…?”

The Soldier growls; in the background, Brock can hear the elevator doors open and close, and he sighs in relief that Max is safe. “Mate me,” he says, voice low. “I promise I’m yours, but it doesn’t have to hurt. Mate me.”

This time, the Soldier simply tears the sweats from his body, yanks the tee over his head to leave him naked and exposed on the couch. Brock spreads his legs, careful of his right knee, and offers himself up for the other man’s perusal. The Soldier sniffs at his chest, his stomach, fingers questing between Brock’s legs and to his hole. “Mine?”

“Yours.”

Penetration comes swiftly, but Brock’s ready for him this time; he forces his body to relax around the intrusion, closes his eyes and turns his face away so he doesn’t have to think about what’s happening.

It’s the worst mistake he could’ve made.

The backhand, when it comes, is from the flesh-and-blood arm, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Brock feels his lip split when his head explodes in agony, and he yelps, “Hey!”

“You turn away from wanting me!”

“No, I…”

The Soldier hits him again, and Brock? Brock lets him, hooks his left leg over the Soldier’s hips and draws him deeper inside, hoping lust will overcome anger. “I’m sorry,” he rumbles, and lifts his face for the next blow. “Sorry.”

The Soldier’s fist is drawn back, but he doesn’t swing. They stare at each other, and Brock lays beneath him, the perfect picture of submission. “Please, I’m sorry. Won’t you go ahead and fuck me? I’ll prove I’m yours, promise I’m yours. You’re Max’s father, of course we’re yours.”

The Soldier lowers his hand. “You both mine?”

“Of course. Please?”

The Soldier doesn’t take long to find a rhythm; if the snarls and growls are anything to go by, he finds pleasure in Brock’s body, and when he comes Brock’s grateful to have the ordeal over with. Fortunately, the Soldier doesn’t knot him, but instead pushes off of him and strides down the hallway into one of the unoccupied bedrooms. The door closes with a quiet ‘click’ and Brock is left alone.

He lays there for long minutes, regulating his breathing and blinking back tears of shame and helplessness. “Fucking biology,” he mumbles to the empty room. After another moment of self-pity, he pushes himself upright, hissing in pain as his swollen opening comes in contact with the couch. He ignores it, reaches for his crutches and pulls himself to his feet. Clumsily, he hop-walks to the bathroom to wash, and look in the mirror.

He wishes he hadn’t.

His lip’s bleeding sluggishly, and his left eye’s already showing signs of one hell of a shiner. He’s got a cut on his cheek, and deep fingerprints forming on his hips. He clenches his teeth, opens the curtain to the shower, and limps into it in spite of the cast on his leg. Washing himself is a slow and painful task, but he manages. Drying himself is a joke, so he does it as best he can and drags himself to Steve’s room. There, he finds a new pair of sweats, a new tee, and a bed.

He barely manages to dress himself before he’s out like a light.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape aftermath. FEELS.

He doesn’t sleep long; maybe an hour, and he gets up carefully and quietly. The Soldier doesn’t seem to find him a threat, because he’s allowed to pass the other man’s door without disturbing him. He shuffles to the elevator, and says, “Jarvis? Would you please take me to Max?”

“Max is in the penthouse with Captain Rogers, Sir and Agent Romanov,” Jarvis replies.

“That’s fine, Jarvis. I just want my son.”

“Yes, Agent Rumlow.”

The elevator comes to a smooth stop and Brock steps out of it, ignoring the way they all stop to stare at him. He knows what he must look like. “Where’s Max?” he asks, gruffly.

Cap’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but it’s the Widow who points to the sofa at the far end of the room. Brock stumbles to it, gently curls around the sleeping form of his son, and quietly starts to sob. He knows he’s not making any noise, but he can’t help the way his body shudders, and soon Max wakes. “Daddy?”

“Hey, buddy,” Brock croaks.

“Daddy, what happened to you?” the pup asks, reaching up to touch the bruises on Brock’s cheek. 

“Your Papa had a nightmare, buddy,” Brock lies easily. “He’s okay though. He just needs a little time to himself now. Were you a good boy for Steve?”

“Promise I was good, Daddy.”

“That’s my little man. You want me to stay here for a while? You mind if your Daddy snuggles you?”

The boy rolls over and presses himself directly against Brock’s side and Brock exhales hard. “Thanks buddy,” he whispers. “I think Daddy could use some extra snuggles right now.”

Max falls back to sleep without much prompting, and Brock knows the others are just waiting for him to let the boy go so they can drill him with questions. He presses one last kiss to his son’s head and extricates himself from the sofa, making his way back across the room to where the others sit talking.

“I’m not particularly fond of running a halfway house for Hydra, Cap, but I’m especially not fond of allowing your old pal to beat the shit out of an omega while under my roof.”

“Tony, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like Bucky knows who he is or what he’s doing!”

“He knew enough to go to Pierce’s after shit went down,” Brock butts in. “He knew enough that he had a son… which means somewhere, he knew he had a mate.”

“I don’t know how he knew any of that,” Steve says. “But he knew me. He _knew_ me, from Brooklyn. That’s not the Winter Soldier.”

“His English’s almost non-existent, Steve,” the Widow says. 

“So maybe he got scrambled when we plunged into the Potomac!” Steve growls, but softly so not to wake Max. “All I know is that he and I drove to Virginia together and even though he didn’t talk a lot, he knew who I was and he knew his first priority was to get to Maksim and keep him safe.”

“And who’s gonna keep Max safe from the Soldier?” Brock asks.

Steve flinches. “What?”

“You were so desperate to drag us here, Cap. What happens when my son pisses his father off for some reason? You think the Soldier’s going to hesitate to beat the crap out of Max just because Max’s a puppy?” Brock sneers. “Mates are supposed to be sacred, too – and we see how he feels about me.”

A frozen vodka bottle thumps down onto the counter in front of Brock. “Thanks, but I don’t drink anymore.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “That’s a travesty. I actually offered it to you so you could hold it against your face. I know frozen peas are supposed to be the best cure, but alas; no peas in the bar.”

Brock picks up the bottle and presses the glass to his face, and Stark’s right – the sting immediately calms thanks to the temperature. He sighs. “Thanks.”

“So what do we do to keep Bucky from beating the shit out of Baby Momma over here, while we’re trying to help him fully remember who he is?” Stark asks. “I can have Jarvis lock him out of one of the floors, and Rumlow can stay on that floor with Max.”

“It’s not fair to keep his son from him,” Steve says.

“Steve, Bucky’s not really in any place to appreciate having a son,” the Widow says, calmly. “It would probably be better for everyone to separate them.”

“I don’t see…”

“What if Max was awake and saw the Soldier hit me?” Brock asks. “I’ll tell you right now, Max would never forgive him.”

“And Bucky wouldn’t forgive himself if that happened,” Steve says, blowing out a breath. “You’re right.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

They all glare at Brock and he can’t help but crack a small grin. “Oh, come on. How often am I ever gonna hear Cap admit that I’m right?”

“I’ll admit your right in the way you behave with Max, too, if it makes you feel any better,” Steve says. “Anyone with eyes can see how much you love your son.”

And really, what can Brock say to that? He blushes, scratches the back of his neck, and mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Okay, so: private floor for two that the Iron Curtain can’t access. Meanwhile, I’ve got two psychiatrists being flown in from Switzerland who are experts with trauma victims and amnesiacs. They should be here tomorrow.”

“Tony, I can’t thank you enough for your help,” Steve says, and Stark waves it away. 

“Forget it, Cap. That’s what a team does, right?”

Steve starts to speak again, but Brock hits him in the ankle with one of his crutches and shakes his head. He knows how uncomfortable it is to receive thanks; he imagines Stark feels the same way. “How are you going to guarantee the safety of your shrinks?”

“We’re going to keep Bucky in the Hulk-proof room for therapy sessions, and the doctors can talk to him through reinforced glass. It’s going to take some time and effort, but if we can bring Barnes back instead of this Winter Soldier, we’ll all be better off.”

Brock nods, not really hearing any more of the conversation. He excuses himself and walks back to the sofa, sitting in a chair across from his son. He stares and swallows hard at the thought of leaving. But with the Soldier – no, with Barnes better, they won’t need him. Hell, they’ll probably take him out back and shoot him. No matter how he acts now, he was Hydra, and that’s all they need to know.

Is he strong enough, once Barnes is healed, to walk away from his boy and let the Alpha have him? To leave him with the Avengers, who would probably love and protect him better than he ever could? Who would offer him everything in the world, and give him a fighting chance?

Could he make himself leave? 

Brock doesn’t know. So he sits, and stares, and tries not to think about how empty his life would be without Max in it, or how much he hurts already by staying and subjecting himself to whatever pains Barnes needs to inflict on him. 

“I’ll show you to your floor.”

He looks up to see the Widow, her blank expression doing nothing to hide how intelligent she is or how closely she watches him. “I can’t carry him,” he says.

“I will.”

She picks up Max like something precious, and it may be the only thing she’s ever done to earn his gratitude. “Follow me,” she says, and walks them to the elevator.

The trip down to the twenty-third floor is silent; not even Jarvis speaks to them. The elevator doors slide open and he trails behind her, glancing around the darkened floor. She slips Max’s sleeping form onto the couch. “This isn’t a completed floor yet, but it’s got a kitchen, bath, and bedrooms. There’s basic furniture for you.”

“It’s more than we need.”

She eyeballs him and he refuses to squirm. Finally, she says, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He finds a clock; it’s five already, almost morning. He lays on the plush carpet at Max’s feet, closes his eyes, and sleeps again.

“Daddy?”

Brock opens an eye. “Wazza time?”

Max peers over the edge of the couch to stare at him on the floor. “Daddy, why are you sleeping there?”

He groans, rubs a hand over his face. “I must’ve been really tired. Are you okay, buddy?”

“I gotta potty.”

Brock forces himself to his feet, grabs for his crutches, and says, “Okay. Let’s find the bathroom.”

Fortunately it’s close to them. They take turns aiming for the bowl, and as Max’s washing his hands, Jarvis says, “Agent Rumlow? Captain Rogers requests permission to join you on your floor. He says he has breakfast available for you.”

“Yeah, he can come in. I thought it was only Barnes we were locking out?”

“Sir thought you might find it more comfortable to allow each Avenger to ask for their right to visit you,” Jarvis explains. “Agent Romanov will not be granted access to the floor again until you authorize it.”

Brock blinks, dries his hands, and limps back to the main room. “Stark gave me a floor, and then locked out the Avengers?”

“Yes, sir. With your permission, they may come in.”

Any further time to be shocked about it falls to the side as the elevator doors open and Steve steps out. He’s carrying several brown bags with handles, and says, “Thought you could use a hot meal.”

“I… yeah. Thank you.”

Max scurries out of the bathroom. “Do I smell bacon?”

“Yeah, buddy. Steve brought us some treats. You want to sit down at the table?”

Max sits. “Are Papa or Unca Alex going to come?”

Brock’s chest constricts. “No, buddy. Papa’s still not feeling well, and Uncle Alex… well, he’s really busy right now, you know? We may not see him for a while because he’s not close to where we are anymore.”

“But how will he know how to find us?”

Steve chokes on air, and Brock hurries to say, “He’ll call when he’s had a chance to get some work done, okay?”

Max makes a face, and Brock prays he won’t have a fight on his hands, but luck seems to smile on him because Max’s stomach rumbles. “Okay, Daddy. Can we eat now?”

“And what do we say to Steve, who brought this for us?”

“Thank you, Steve!”

“You’re very welcome.”

Max and Steve unpack the bags, and Brock can’t help the way his own stomach rumbles as bagels appear, bacon, eggs, fruit, pancakes, Danish… “What did you do, rob a restaurant?”

Steve laughs. “No, Tony’s got an open account with a little place down the block. We tend to order from there a lot, so I got a little of everything since I didn’t know what either of you like.”

“Is there coffee?”

Steve nods.

“I think I might be a little in love with you right now, Cap,” Brock says, heartfelt, and Steve laughs.

They dig in the way starving people do, and Brock’s extra careful eating and drinking thanks to the cut on his lip. “How fast do you heal?” Steve asks, as the meal winds down.

“Maybe a day or two more for my face. The knee? Who knows. I’ve never gotten hurt from a circumstance like that before.”’

“Daddy does a lot of dangerous work! Unca Alex says he’s really brave, but no one knows, because he’s part of a top-secret league of superheroes! Like Batman!”

Brock winces and covers his face. “Really? That’s what Unca… err, Uncle Alex said?”

Max nods solemnly and Steve looks torn between laughter and rage. “I take it Uncle Alex spent a lot of time talking about what you did?”

Brock shrugs. “I wasn’t there for most of it. Hey, buddy? Are you almost done with breakfast?”

When Max nods, he says, “Great. You want to go play with Rex for a little bit? Daddy and Steve need to talk for a while.”

“Okay.” 

Brock watches his son disappear from the kitchen and he lands on the couch, tossing Rex into the air and giggling to himself. Brock smiles and turns his attention back to Steve, who’s wearing more of a ‘Captain America’ expression than something nice.

“Something tells me Pierce wasn’t describing S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“You’re probably right,” Brock deadpans. “Since I was supposed to be breeding the next generation of super-soldiers.”

Steve’s eyes bug out like he’d never… “You have no idea, do you. That my child’s the product of two genetically enhanced, dual biology individuals? Pierce wanted Max to grow up believing that Hydra was something sacred and amazing. Then, when he hit puberty and showed his secondary genetics, Pierce would either breed him, or have him start breeding an army of super-soldiers. Because the drugs that made Barnes, and me, and you were either too rare or didn’t take with most test subjects.”

Steve looks ill. “He wanted… that’s… that’s…”

“The only reason I don’t have more children? Is because the first time Barnes and I fucked, it was a mating frenzy. When your old friend bit me, I became… receptive. Since then, I’ve not been so receptive, if you catch my drift.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m sure Stark suspects something, and probably Banner. Hell, the Widow probably found our files somehow. I don’t think Pierce kept much in writing, but who the hell knows what the crazy bastard did.”

“But you. How could you choose Hydra? How could you choose to let this happen?”

“Steve. Do you really think I chose to let Barnes mate me? That I chose to have a child? That I wanted any part of any of the missions I took part in, once Pierce knew that all he had to do was threaten my pup to make me behave?” Brock snorts. “That wasn’t a choice. It was, at first, but I wasn’t a good man to begin with. Having Max made me see a lot of things differently. Made me want to be different for his sake, but by then it was too late. I was already in so deep there wasn’t any getting out. Not until you and Wilson and Widow decided to declare war on the Triskelion. And I took my chances.”

“You could’ve gone to Fury.”

Brock laughs. “And told him what, exactly? Do you think he would’ve believed anything I had to say? Steve, how naïve are you? I was bad news when they hired me. Nothing I said would’ve made a damn bit of difference.”

“Maybe you should try talking to him now.”

“Dead men don’t talk.”

“He’s not dead.”

Brock freezes. “What?”

“Fury isn’t dead. Long story, but he and Hill are working to clean up what’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Brock says, angrily. “Why are you even trusting me to tell me this shit? How do you know I won’t go to my old contacts and…”

Steve’s hand covers Brock’s wrist; but instead of causing pain, he sweeps a thumb back and forth over the Omega’s forearm. “I think you’d do anything to get away from Hydra, and S.H.I.E.L.D., and the Avengers. I think if you could pick Max up and take him to the moon, you’d already be on your way. But there are people out there who would take your son and do their best to finish what Pierce started. And now you have to choose a side, really choose. Are you on your own side? Or are you on Max’s?”

“Of course I’m on Max’s side, what the fuck kind of question is that?”

“Then help us keep him safe from people who would use him or experiment on him or brainwash him the same way they brainwashed his father,” Steve says. “That’s why I’m telling you about Fury. Because right now, you’ve got the best chance of anyone to keep Max safe.”

Brock feels calmer, in a strange way; the Alpha next to him isn’t giving him orders, or belittling him, or threatening him in any way. It feels a lot like caring; something he can’t even get from his own Alpha. He leans into Steve, suddenly, puts his head against Steve’s chest until he realizes the man beside him has gone rigid and stiff. Brock jerks away, jerks his hand away. “Fuck, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” the blond replies. “I wasn’t trying to influence you or…”

“That wasn’t because you were influencing me, Cap,” Brock says, trying for sarcasm but failing by a mile. “That was just… biology.”

Steve sighs. “I wish you knew Bucky the way I do. He’s the guy I would’ve wanted for my Alpha, if I was an Omega. He’s a good man, he just needs to remember that. Think about it, won’t you?”

“I think you’ve given me enough to think about for a while.”

Steve accepts that as the end of the conversation and he stands. “May I say goodbye to Max?”

“Yeah, sure. He’d probably be disappointed if you just left.”

Brock watches the Alpha walk into the living area, watches the way his son enjoys a hug and a pat on the head. He smiles for Max’s benefit, but feels like dying a little inside. Would he be able to let Barnes and Steve raise his child? Would his own disappearance keep Max safer, or not safe enough? Would the Avengers and Fury twist Max into a weapon or a criminal – the same kind of criminal he was as a kid?

He doesn’t know. But he’s going to have to make a decision, one way or another, and find out.


	4. Four

Three weeks pass; Steve visits him every day and gives him updates on Barnes’ recovery. His own broken leg heals, and the ability to walk and defend himself again improves his general outlook on living in Avenger’s Tower.

He grants floor access to Steve and Stark and Banner, and diplomatically meets the Widow – who has Barton with her – on a different floor. They’re in the penthouse, sprawled across the long sofas. The two of them sit together, side-by-side, on one couch.

“Don’t trust us?” Barton asks, when he sits across from them.

“Not as far as I could throw you,” he replies. He’s glad he left Max with Steve on their private floor. “What do you want?”

“We want a way to take down what’s left of Hydra, and I think you’d be willing to help us,” the Widow says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but Steve seems to be getting attached to you and Max.”

Brock keeps his face neutral. “And?”

“And as his friends, it becomes our job to keep him from doing anything stupid,” Barton replies. “Like taking on a secret terrorist organization by himself to keep you and Barnes and Max safe.”

“Steve told me he told you Fury’s alive.”

“He did.”

“And now I’m asking you to meet with him and help us end this.”

The two agents stare at him and he glares at them. “What makes you think that I have anything to tell? Or that I’d even tell you the truth?”

“I think you want to keep your kid safe. Which is a lot more than I can say for some people,” Barton says. He gets a pinched expression around his mouth. “You laid your cards on the table because of him, and everyone knows where to hit you when they need to. So why not use your knowledge to your advantage?”

Brock sighs. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it almost a month,” the Widow replies. “You’re going to have to choose at some point.”

“Maybe I will. But to say I don’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D., or whatever’s left of it, goes unspoken.”

“Not really sure we trust you either, Rumlow,” Barton says. “We don’t exactly have the best history amongst us. But Cap wants to put his faith in you, and that’s good enough for me.”

Brock sits back in his chair, stares at the floor. Maybe his decision isn’t as hard to make after all. “Would Fury be willing to come here?”

Barton’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Maybe it is,” he says. “If Stark’s okay with him being here, anyway.”

“Stark will deal with it. Let’s say… an hour?”

Brock blinks. “He can get here in an hour?”

“Sure. He’s been close by ever since you and Cap got here,” Barton says. “Besides, we assumed you’d want to meet here.”

Fucking spies. 

“I’ll be with Max,” Brock says, standing. “Let Jarvis know when he gets here and I’ll come back up.”

“Agent Rumlow?”

All three of them look to the ceiling. “Jarvis, he really couldn’t be here already, could he?” Barton asks, which makes Brock snicker.

“No, Agent Barton. But Sergeant Barnes is on his way to the penthouse. Agent Rumlow, if you’ll please walk to the elevators on the far side of the room, I’ll open the doors and lead you back to your floor.”

“Thank you Jarvis,” Brock says, and stands quickly. He strides to the far side of the room, where the elevator doors are already parting. He steps into the box as the elevators across the floor ding; and just as the doors slide shut, he sees the wide, blue eyes of his mate.

“Jarvis, hurry, please – close the doors.”

The doors slide shut, cutting off the howl from the other side. Brock clenches his eyes and sinks to the floor, curling his arms around his knees. “Thanks for the warning Jarvis,” he says. “Maybe someday, he won’t make me want to run, right?”

Jarvis’ reply is cut off by a heavy thump on top of the elevator. Brock looks up just in time to see the emergency door crash in, and a body drops into the elevator with him. The body hits the emergency stop, and the elevator jerks to a halt with a crash and a whine.

Barnes.

Brock stares open-mouthed for half a second, and it’s all the Alpha needs to grab hold of him and push him to the floor. “Why are you hiding my son from me?” he screams, spittle flying into Brock’s face. “Where’s Maksim?”

Brock twists, kicks out with two good legs and manages to knock the Alpha off of him. “Stop!”

Barnes moves to grab him, but Brock ducks, forcing the metal hand through the wall of the elevator instead of through his head. “Stop! I’m not hiding him from you!”

“I want to see him!”

“You shouldn’t see him until you’re better,” Brock says, and puts a hand on the other man’s arm. Barnes’ hand is still stuck in the wall, but not for long. “Please!”

Barnes pulls free, and that’s it; Brock’s at his limit. He only has one card left to play and he goes for it. He steps his body into Barnes’ and leans into him, wrapping his arms around his mate’s back. “You scare me,” he whimpers. “You scare me so badly. Steve keeps telling me what a good man you are, but I don’t see that. I want to see it. Show me what a good man you are, not a monster. Show me I can feel safe with you and our son.”

Barnes isn’t moving, but there’s no way he could miss how hard Brock’s shaking against him. “Please. Please, I want to feel safe with you, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m your omega but you won’t protect me from yourself!”

Biology made Brock weaker than the Alpha in front of him, and he uses it to his best advantage now. He rubs the top of his head under Barnes’ chin, whimpering and crying, emitting pheromones that tell the Alpha exactly what he’s doing to his mate.

“You’re afraid of me?” Barnes asks. He doesn’t look angry anymore, only sad and confused. “But… but you’ve been keeping my pup from me, I’ve never had the chance to meet him. I barely know _you_.”

His voice is different, Brock realizes. His English is crystal clear. And Jarvis called him ‘Sergeant Barnes’. “Do you remember much of being the Winter Soldier?” he asks, hesitantly.

“It’s smoke and shadows,” the Alpha says. “I know… Steve told me that you and I have been having a rough go of it, but then you took my son and hid him and I don’t know _why_. How could you take from me the one good thing I’ve ever done? How is that supposed to help me remember?”

“What if I told you that our son was the product of a mating frenzy? That the only reason I’m yours is because we were forced?”

“I wouldn’t put it past the men holding me to do such a thing. But I didn’t… I wouldn’t have hurt you. I wouldn’t. Why are you afraid?”

“Because you aren’t the man I know,” Brock admits. “My mate would never speak to me the way you’re speaking to me. He’d take what I was there for, and hurt me in the process.”

Barnes blanches. “I’d never hurt an omega! Steve told me I hurt you and that I had things to make up for. I’m sorry I jumped in the elevator and scared you, but I had to know. And no one would tell me anything!”

“Our couplings weren’t fun for me,” Brock says, but he continues to lean into Barnes’ chest. “You hurt me. Physically, mentally… you could’ve hurt Max, and it wouldn’t have bothered you. I didn’t want our son to see that, because he loves you. I don’t even know you. But you’re my mate, and you’re my child’s father, so if… if you’re willing to try…”

“I am!”

“Then maybe… maybe you and I can talk?”

“I’d like that,” Barnes says. And for the first time, Brock can see the sweet smile behind those gorgeous blue eyes. “I’m still talking through my history with the head shrinks Stark hired, but if you want to talk, we’ll talk. Okay?”

Brock’s torn between either staying in his mate’s arms or stepping back to get some space between them. He takes a breath and pulls away. “Okay. Tonight? In the penthouse, we can sit in the kitchen?”

“Do you want the others around?”

“Yeah,” Brock says. “That’s why I wanted to meet there.”

“Oh. Right.”

They stare at each other awkwardly, until Jarvis says, “Captain Rogers and Nick Fury are in the penthouse, gentlemen. May I re-start the elevator?”

Brock closes his eyes. After dealing with the emotional hurricane from the man in front of him, he’s not sure whether he wants to deal with Fury or not. He rubs a hand across his face. “Where’s Max, if Steve’s with Fury?”

“Ms. Potts is with him, Agent Rumlow. I believe she and Sir will be showing him Wall-E shortly.”

“Again?” he groans. “God, Jarvis, can’t you please convince Stark to show him a different Disney film? Maybe Aladdin, or something.”

“I’ll do my best, Agent Rumlow. Meanwhile, would you be willing to attend the meeting in the penthouse? Or should I tell Captain Rogers to reschedule?”

“Probably better to get this over with. Take us up, please.”

He looks at Barnes, and stays at arm’s length away from him. Barnes murmurs, “I really messed you up, didn’t I?”

“I was already messed up. You just made it a million times worse.”

Barnes winces. “Anything I can do to help you in this meeting?”

“Leaving the room while I talk would be great.”

“I’m your Alpha, I’m supposed to…”

“You and I aren’t anything to each other yet,” Brock says. “I need a friend right now, and that’s not you. I need you to let me deal with this on my own.”

“And what friend do you need?”

“Steve.”

Brock doesn’t hesitate, and that startles him; he isn’t sure when he started thinking of Captain America as a friend and confidant, but now that he’s said it aloud, he doesn’t know how he could feel about Steve any other way. “He’s been the only friend I’ve had since escaping Hydra,” Brock explains. “He was there for me when the Winter Soldier wasn’t. When my mate couldn’t be.”

“But I’m not him!”

“But you wear his face. And I need time to deal with that, which is why I think us meeting tonight is a better plan. All right?”

Barnes frowns, and it’s the same ridiculous pout Max has. It almost makes Brock smile. Until the elevator doors open, and he has no reason to smile at all.

“Bucky? What’re you doing in an elevator with Brock?”

“Talking. That’s all.”

Steve looks at Brock, who nods. “We were talking about meeting later tonight to talk. Around seven, up here.”

Steve looks between them, and gives Brock a quizzical glare. Brock ignores it, shrugs, and sits down in one of the available seats. Barnes sits as well – but next to Steve, far from Brock’s side. 

Fury, the Widow, and Barton watch everything with barely-disguised intrigue.

“So what did you want to ask me?” Brock asks, cutting the tension in the room with the tact of a hacksaw. “What do you want to hear?”

“I hear you’ve got a kid,” Fury replies. “True or false?”

“True.”

“And that you’re mated to the Winter Soldier.”

“Also true.”

“It doesn’t look like you two get along so well.”

“That’s not a question,” Steve interrupts, growling, and Fury holds up his hands in a gesture of pacification. 

“Just making a point, Captain.”

“I can tell you where to stick your points,” Brock mutters. 

They fall silent. Finally, Fury asks, “My agents tell me you might have information.”

“I might,” Brock says, intentionally being a dick. “But I wonder what you’ll do for me to get it.”

“Brock!”

Brock shakes his head at Steve’s outburst. “I want an exit strategy,” he says. “I don’t want to worry about ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents hunting me down and taking me out when I’m no longer deemed useful. And I want to be sure I’m not going to be arrested or blamed for anything that Hydra caused.”

“Even though you were fully involved in it.”

“It wasn’t my choice, after a certain point,” Brock says.

“And why would I do that for you, Rumlow?”

“Because I can tell you why Eric Moss is a dirty motherfucker, and I can also name his friends.”

All three ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lean forward at that. “Prove it,” Fury snaps.

“I don’t need to,” Brock replies. “If you investigate Hadrian Shipping, you can find out for yourselves.”

Fury leans back. “So you’ll give up Moss and let us dig into him so we can prove you’re being honest.”

“If you like the results, then we’ll make a trade. My exit strategy for as many names as I can recall.”

Fury almost cracks a smile. “Deal.”

Brock stands. “Then I believe I’ve got an engagement to get to. Jarvis, were you able to talk Stark into something other than Wall-E?”

“Unfortunately not, Agent Rumlow.”

“Damn. Well, I guess I’ve got some rogue robots to go watch.” He stretches and walks away from all of them, gets into the elevator, and says, “Jarvis, take me to my boy, please?”

When he gets onto his floor, he sees Ms. Potts and Stark on his couch, Max curled between them like he belongs there. “Hi Daddy. Mr. Jarvis said you had a meeting.”

“I did, buddy. Do you want to go watch the rest of Wall-E in your room while I talk to Auntie Pepper and Uncle Tony?”

Max nods. He leans over and nuzzles Pepper, than nuzzles Stark. “Thank you for watching Wall-E with me. It’s my favorite, too.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Pepper says, petting him. Brock grins at the way Max responds, sweet and gentle as always, and then skips down the hall to his room.

“God, your kid,” Stark groans. “It’s like he’s made of rainbows and puppies and unicorns and pixie sticks.”

Brock laughs, sinks into one of the armchairs. “Imagine how perfect he’d be if he wasn’t made from monsters,” he says. 

“That’s an unkind thing to say,” the redheaded woman says. “Give yourself some credit. You’ve done a wonderful job with him no matter what your background.”

“Thanks,” Brock replies, and lets out a groan. He closes his eyes. “I just met with Fury.”

“Jarvis told me. He also told me you saw Barnes. You okay?”

“I have no idea.”

“It’s exhausting, doing the right thing.”

Brock freezes; somehow, Stark’s hit the nail on the head. “Well, shit.”

Pepper laughs. “Brock, we all see how you are with Max. You’ve managed to make friends with Steve, and you’re not such a bad guy when you’re just being yourself. And maybe that’s a vast departure from your past, but that’s okay. Change is a positive and healthy part of life.”

Stark makes a gagging noise and she flicks him in the ear. “And you hush.”

“Yes, Pepper. Anything you say, Pepper.”

“It’s a terrible shame I can’t leave you with Max so you can pick up some better manners.”

“Pepper! How can you say that? It hurts me, it really does.”

Brock refuses to acknowledge their banter as cute, and rolls his eyes instead. “Well, I’ve got a couple hours until I have to meet Barnes. Can I ask you to let yourselves out when the movie’s over?”

“We can go now.”

“Pep! Wall-E and Eve were just about to…”

“Just stay, Stark,” Brock says. “You and Pepper are welcome to stay. I intend to go sleep.”

He heads down the hallway and wonders exactly when sleeping close to Iron Man became a good thing. When he gets to his room, he sees Max sprawled across his bed. “Hey, don’t you have your own bed to sleep in?” he asks, tickling his son’s feet.

Max squeals, yanks his foot away giggling. “Daddy! That’s not nice.”

“Mmm. But you’re in my bed, so I’m gonna get you!”

The tickle fight is short-lived; Brock peels out of his jeans and kicks off his shoes, then stretches out alongside his pup. “Your Daddy’s getting old,” he says, grinning. “He needs his nap. You want to stay with me?”

Max nods, waits until Brock settles and then rolls against his side. “I love you Daddy.”

“I love you too, little man. I’m really glad we’re here together.”

Max yawns, puts his head on Brock’s chest. “Are we ever gonna see Papa again?”

Brock sighs. “I think so. He was really, really sick, buddy, but he’s a lot better. He just needs a little more time, okay?”

“But I miss him! I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Your Papa and I want to be sure he’s safe for you to be around so you don’t get any of his… germs. You know how ouchies are bad? Germs are worse.”

Max makes a face and settles down. “Okay, Daddy. No germs. But when you see Papa, tell him I really miss him?”

Brock kisses his son’s forehead. “Swear it on my life.”


	5. Five

Brock almost sleeps through his meeting with Barnes; if not for Jarvis, he’d have missed it completely. So when he gets to the top floor, his hair’s free from any gel, he’s wearing one of the two pairs of jeans he owns, and he’s barefoot. “Sorry,” he says, when he finally gets into the kitchen area of the penthouse. “I think today wiped me out more than I thought.”

Barnes nods, rakes his eyes up and down Brock’s body and hell if Brock doesn’t react. Crazed rapist killer or not, the man’s not hard on the eyes. “You’re here and that’s all that matters,” Barnes rumbles.

Brock sits across from the Alpha and holds out his hand. “Brock Rumlow,” he says, and waits for the other man to respond. “Brock’s fine.”

“James Barnes,” the Alpha says, sliding his hand into Brock’s. “I’m glad to be here with you. And James is fine for me.”

Brock nods. Maybe now he can look at his mate as something other than the Winter Soldier. “I don’t really know where to start,” he admits.

“Steve says you’re pretty brave. In the field, and here too. And that you’re an amazing parent.”

Brock blushes. “Uh.”

James grins, slow and sweet as molasses. “Well that’s a nice side-effect of a compliment. But, maybe you can tell me about Max? That’s a safe topic, right?”

Brock nods, and tells James about Max (named Russian in honor of his father) and tells him about his first word (‘Daddy’, quickly followed by, ‘more!’), and about Rex and how Max was already learning to talk by the time he was seven months old. And how blue’s his favorite color and he loves Disney movies and that he’s a bright, lovable pup. And before he really thinks about it, Brock’s been talking for an hour straight. “Oh, wow,” he says, and accepts the glass of water when James hands it to him. “Sorry. You must be bored to death.”

“I just found out I have an amazing kid who’s been raised by an amazing man. Why would I be bored?”

Brock’s embarrassed again. “I don’t normally talk that much.”

“Maybe no one ever found the right topic before.”

“Maybe.”

They sit quietly. Finally, James says, “The shrinks tell me I had a sister named Rebecca. She’s gone now, of course – but I remember glimpses of her, I think. She had the best smile, and she had warm eyes. The kind you know talk for her, when she didn’t? And then there’s Steve, of course – we could probably talk about him for an hour or so.”

Brock laughs. “He’s been my rock while I’ve been here.”

“It must’ve been hell. I don’t remember much of it. The doctors are still trying to figure out how to make my memories marry up.”

“You might be lucky if you just forgot it all,” Brock replies. “Some things in my past, I wish I’d forget.”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember the two of us,” James says. “And I’m sorry what you remember of me isn’t worth remembering at all.”

Brock slides from his chair, comes around the table to stand in front of him. When James starts to turn, Brock says, “Don’t. Please.”

James freezes. Brock moves a step at a time closer to him, until he’s standing behind the Alpha. Hesitantly, he presses his mouth to the back of James’ neck. “When we were mated, you bit me. But you never let me mark you so that other omegas would know you were taken.”

James rumbles a sound so low that it makes Brock shiver. “I think we should fix that,” the Alpha says. “Even the playing field a little. What do you think?”

“I think I’d like that very much,” Brock replies, and bites down hard.

James stills, and the mating bond – so weak and small between them – flares to life with a heat and vibrancy that makes Brock’s knees go out. The Alpha spins in his chair to catch the other man, and when Brock looks up at him, James kisses him.

Their first kiss is more arousing than their first fuck.

Brock whimpers into James’ mouth, wraps his arms around the Alpha’s neck and hangs on as James teases him with lips and tongue. Hands travel down his back and he arches, allowing the Alpha to manhandle him up against the fridge. “Jesus,” Brock says, when they part for breath.

“You’re so incredible,” James says. “I can’t believe I’m yours.”

‘I’m yours’. Not ‘you’re mine’. The slight change in phrasing makes Brock grin. “I can’t believe you’re mine, either.”

James laughs and presses their foreheads together. “I can’t promise I’m 100% better, but I want to try to be the man you deserve. Can we try?”

“Yes.”

James smiles so widely it hurts. “Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Brock’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Brock rubs his face against his Alpha’s and purrs in satisfaction. If mating ends up being half as nice as the feeling he has now, he might just grow to love the man in front of him the same way he feels for his son. 

“Are you two decent in there?”

Brock bursts out laughing at the horror in Stark’s voice. “Depends how graphic you find hugging,” he calls.

“Asshole. I was trying to do the decent thing, you two smell like a pheromone bomb.”

It’s James’ turn to blush, and Brock chuckles. “Come in, Stark, if you’re coming.”

“Well that didn’t sound dirty at all,” Stark says, when he walks into the kitchen. “We’re watching Alien, do you want to come watch with us?”

James looks at Brock. “Well? Your choice.”

“That movie’s scary as shit. Yeah, let’s watch it. I can’t tell you the last time I saw a movie that wasn’t a cartoon.”

They join the Avengers in the main living area, settle together on one of the couches. James holds out his hand and entwines his fingers with Brock’s. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Brock nods. He meets Steve’s smiling gaze and smiles back. ‘Thanks,’ he mouths.

Steve nods. James looks between them, and chuckles. “Nice to be here with my best pal and my best guy,” he says, the Brooklyn accent thick in his voice. “Hey Steve, you wanna sit over here?”

“Sure thing, Buck,” Steve replies, and moves to sit on the other side of Brock. “This okay?”

“Yeah. Better.”

Brock curls against James, and somehow finds his feet in Steve’s lap after thirty minutes or so. _Safe,_ he thinks, and dozes off.

When he finally awakens, it’s because James kisses him again. “You should go to bed,” he says. “You’re wiped.”

“Long day. Did you… want to come downstairs with me?”

“Are you asking me to come in for a nightcap? Or are you asking me to stay for breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Brock says. “I’ve been telling Max you’ve been sick, and he misses you like crazy. I want him to get to know the James Barnes I met tonight. Do you want that, too?”

James lifts him up bridal style, despite Brock’s sputtering protests, and carries him to the elevator. “Jarvis, can you get the doors?”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes.”

Brock finds himself plastered to the wall in the elevator, but this time he’s not afraid. James kisses him; then draws back to run flesh-and-blood fingertips over his face. “You’re really gorgeous,” he says. “I had flashes of what you looked like, but they weren’t anything like the real thing.”

“I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think I would ever get to know you. Steve kept telling me to have hope, but I didn’t believe him.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m glad I chose to listen to Steve.”

James doesn’t do anything more than sigh. When the elevators open on Brock’s floor, they exit the space together. “Jarvis?” Brock murmurs. “Is Max in his bed, or mine?”

“Max is in his own bed, Agent Rumlow.”

Brock grins. “Want to see my room?”

They bump into furniture on the way; clothes come off, James kicks off the sneakers he’s wearing, pulls his shirt over his head. Then he pulls Brock’s shirt over his head as well, running both hands into Brock’s hair. “How well can you feel with your left arm?” Brock asks.

“Like it’s my own arm. Why?”

Brock draws the metal hand to his mouth, kisses the alloy fingertips. “Can you feel that?”

“Jesus, yes.”

Brock closes his eyes. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No. It’s not.”

They fall side by side in the bed, James’ larger body covering Brock’s, legs and arms tangling as they move together, separated only by the thin material of their undergarments. “What do you want tonight?”

Brock opens his eyes to see James smiling down at him. “This. Just this.”

“Kissing? Petting?”

When Brock nods, James asks, “May I touch you more intimately? Kiss you everywhere? I don’t want to scare you after what happened before.”

“You can touch me.”

James sweeps his fingers down Brock’s arm, over his hip to the soft insides of his thighs and across the fly of his boxer briefs. Brock arches. “Is that okay?”

“Oh…” Brock gasps. He can feel the arousal pitch in his blood, his body reacting to the Alpha above him. “You’re making me wet,” he admits.

James growls, but it isn’t frightening; the desire that flashes in his eyes sets Brock’s pulse racing. “I want you to come apart for me,” James says. “Would you do that for me? Would you give me that, let me see it?”

“Yes!”

James bucks his hips forward, rubbing his groin against Brock’s, and Brock cries out softly. “Shh, lovely omega mine,” James says. “Little ears are down the hallway.”

Brock bites his lip, gasps as James nips at his shoulder, purrs as the two of them rut together. Brock’s underwear soaks through, and James presses lightly against his backside, drawing the moisture away and licking it from his fingers. “Sweet, sweet baby,” he rumbles. “God, so good…”

Brock comes, spills a rich, mossy scent, and that’s what pushes James into his own orgasm. They lay together, James spooning Brock, until James pushes up and says, “Bathroom?”

Brock lazily points at the master bath, and James goes. When he comes back, he’s got a washcloth, and sets to removing Brock’s underwear and wiping him down. “That’s the first really exceptional memory I’ve had since I woke up,” James says, nuzzling into Brock’s side.

“Tomorrow, you can add breakfast with your son to that list.”

James kisses him, holds him close; it’s the best sleep Brock’s had in his entire thirty-six years. And the only reason it ends is because a little voice barges into his room in the morning yelling, “PAPA!!!!”

Max almost kicks Brock in the nuts as he clamors into the bed with them, and Brock can’t bring himself to be upset about his son’s enthusiasm. “Hey, little man. Careful there!”

“Sorry Daddy. But Papa’s here!”

“Hey, Max,” James says. “I really missed you.”

“I missed you too, Papa. Did Daddy tell you how much? I made him promise!”

“Of course he told me. I’m just glad I’m… better. So I can see you again.”

Max hangs on to James’ neck for dear life, and James licks the boy’s face, marking him with his scent. Something strong and powerful takes root in Brock’s chest as he watches them interact. 

It might be love.

“Did Daddy tell you he would make us breakfast?”

“Now wait a minute. Your Papa gets all these hugs and cuddles, and I have to get up and go cook? What’s fair about that?” Brock says, making exaggerated faces at Max. “Where are my cuddles? Huh? What happened here?”

“Oh, Daddy…” Max sighs. “Of course I’ve got cuddles for you.”

“Good thing, buddy,” Brock says, and wraps his arms around the little boy. “But now that I’ve got you, I might not let you go!”

“Daddy, how’re you going to get up if you don’t put me down?”

“Like… this!” 

Brock uses the strength in his legs to lift the two of them from the bed, loving the way Max shrieked in glee. “Now, off to the kitchen!”

“You might want to find some pants first.”

Brock looks down at his junk dangling in the breeze. “Good point if I’m cooking. What do you think, buddy? Daddy should find some pants, huh?”

“And for Papa too?”

“And for Papa too. It’s no fun to cuddle in pants.”

“I understand.”

And Max looks so grown up that it’s all Brock can do not to laugh. “Okay buddy. So I’ll put you to work instead. I want you to go to the kitchen and carefully take bag of flour out, and put three scoops in the big bowl on the counter. Can you do that?”

Max holds up three fingers and rolls his eyes. “Sure, Daddy. That’s an easy one!”

He scampers out of the bedroom; Brock grins until he hears the elevator doors open. “Hi Uncle Steve!” Max shouts. “Did you know Papa’s here? He and Daddy are cuddling without pants, but they’ll be out soon!”

James makes a choking sound from the bed, and Brock feels his cheeks turn an alarming shade of scarlet. “Oh my God!” 

They both scramble into pants and rush into the kitchen, where Max is scooping flour and Steve’s silently shaking with laughter. “Thanks, kiddo,” James says. “Hiya, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t reply; Brock’s not actually sure the man could form words without wetting himself laughing. “Sure, sure,” Brock says. “Feel free to enjoy yourself at our expense. None of my famous pancakes for you.”

Steve falls apart laughing, taking great heaving breaths. Max stops counting scoops and stares at him. “What’s wrong with Uncle Steve?”

“Nothing a kick in the head won’t cure,” James says, and smacks Steve on the ass. “Hey! Don’t traumatize my family.”

Brock freezes. He looks around the room, sees the man who’s become his best friend, and his mate, and his son, and feels such an overwhelming love and sense of belonging that he can’t breathe. He knows there are rough roads ahead; that not everything will be perfect between him and James, and that Fury could potentially be a thorn in his side later. But here, and now, he has everything he never knew he always wanted.

“You okay?” James says, breaking him from his thoughts.

“I’m really good,” he says, a little awestruck, and goes to the fridge for the milk and eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday with two chapters! And yes, there's a part 4 already written for this series... :)


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